


Ruin

by redtrouble



Series: Demonheart: Through the Eyes of Sir Brash [7]
Category: Demonheart (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:59:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtrouble/pseuds/redtrouble
Summary: Sir Brash and Bright finally make it to Rivera's lair and everything comes apart. (Spoilers. You play now.) Rated M for mature language and attempted rape.





	Ruin

Sir Brash stared at the rain pouring beyond the mouth of the temple ruin, a curtain of water so thick that the road had disappeared and even the skulls mounted on pikes just beyond the front door were hard to make out. Across from him, Jasper was glaring at the staircase into the ruin, ominously decorated with more human skulls, and there was a grim set to his mouth. Next to him, Bright was shivering, dripping wet, staring vacantly at the ground. He wished there was something he could do for her but he had run out of gifts to give. Even his cloak was just a heavy, sopping waste of fabric. He thought about putting his arm around her but didn’t have the guts to touch her. Not now. Not inside Rivera’s lair.

Brash glared angrily at the rain and his fingers curled into fists. What were they doing just standing there? He should be marching them inside. What the fuck was he waiting for—them to drip-dry on the welcome mat? He was stalling…but for what? There was only one way this could play out, always had been. So why was he standing there like one more second might change everything?

“Sh-shall we go in?” Bright asked innocently, teeth chattering. She didn’t know what was coming. She thought they were there to kill the witch.

He squeezed his fists and his jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he replied through clenched teeth. He pushed off the wall and walked past her without so much as a single glance in her direction. “We’re close to our target. Follow me…you cunts.”

Their footsteps echoed on the stairs as they descended. The smell of dust and smoke pierced his nostrils. At the bottom of the stairs, a long corridor stretched in both directions, torches and human skeletons bolted on the walls in a recurring pattern. Brash hesitated again, fingers curled around the grip of his sword, index tapping the rain guard. All they had to do was step to the left and Rivera would find them quick enough…

He eyed the back of Jasper’s head as the kid tentatively stepped out into the hallway, looking around. He was still a problem that needed dealing with. Brash’s gaze flicked to Bright who was staring at the skeletons hanging on the walls in morbid fascination. He had business with her that needed dealing with, too.

“Fuck this shit,” he muttered. Rivera could wait.

“Sir?” Bright asked.

“Shut up,” he snapped and headed off down the corridor on the right. They walked in silence for almost a whole minute before Jasper started running his mouth, gabbing nervously at Bright about ancestors and shit. Brash rolled his eyes. “Stop talking,” he growled. Ten seconds passed before the boy was whispering.

“Please, be quiet,” Bright whispered back but he only apologized and rambled some more. Brash clenched his jaw. It was good he was being so obnoxious. It made what he had to do real easy.

They reached the tomb at the end of the corridor. A lone coffin stood on a three-tiered dais and two torches lit the small space. Brash stood there for a moment. He had hoped a plan would form on the walk over but all the things he wanted to do and say were jumbled up with all the reasons not, and his conflicting emotions were clouding any attempts to sort through the tangle.

Brash sat on the dais steps and scowled at the ground. The one thing he was sure of was that he needed a moment alone with Bright before Rivera took her. There were things he needed to say, to explain...things he needed to do. But Jasper was in the way. How could he go about killing the idiot boy without upsetting her so much that she wouldn’t listen to him? Maybe there wasn’t a way, but he had too many things he had to make her understand and least of all those things was that the kid was dead anyway. Rivera wouldn’t spare him for shit—and if he did live longer than two seconds, it would be torture.

Bright slowly began circling the room, eyes bouncing to every carving and detail on the walls. Was she admiring the history or was she just looking for clues on how to proceed to the witch’s lair? She looked so unafraid. Why? Because she was with him? Because he had saved her from an evil, old man? No matter how much he told her otherwise, she had believed he could kill the witch. He wished he fucking could…but it wasn’t happening.

What the fuck was he stalling for? To tell her he had been the villain all along? To verbally betray her before actually doing it?

His gaze traveled down from her face to her throat. The scar was hidden by her gorget. His eyes roamed further—down the slope of her armored back, the curve of her ass, and he admired the way those pants hugged her thighs. He remembered grasping those thighs, her legs hugging his hips. Such carnal thoughts didn’t pair well with his dark mood. But he would be a liar if he pretended he only brought her down here to talk…

Brash squeezed the grip of his sword.

“Bright,” Jasper murmured, snapping Brash out of his thoughts. “I know this is crazy, but now that you are no longer with Mark…”

Was he crazy? He had to be fucking crazy. He wasn’t really going to confess to her, was he?

“I must confess—”

Oh, _fuck_.

“—I’ve always fancied you. I know we are in a dangerous place… But perhaps that’s more of a reason to let you know.”

Brash glared at the two of them. Jasper was blushing. How dare he? How fucking dare he open his pussy-bitch mouth and spew that romantic shit _now_ , in front of _him_.

Bright seemed completely caught off guard, wide-eyed and shaking her head. “Jasper, this is not the time and place—” she started to say and then her citrine-colored eyes flicked in Brash’s direction and grew even wider.

“I wish you could tell me you feel the same,” Jasper continued, oblivious to the danger.

Brash slowly stood. His thoughts weren’t jumbled anymore. There was a frightening clarity in his mind, black as night.

“Jasper, focus on the mission!” Bright exclaimed.

“Do I need to beat the shit out of you both so you would fucking shut up?” Brash snarled as he came toward them.

“Can we even manage with the three of us?” Jasper asked flippantly as he turned to face him. “Could the witch be nearby?” He folded his arms across his chest, letting his annoyance show. Brash’s knuckles cracked as he clenched his fist. “Sir, you haven’t even told us the plan.”

“I told you the plan before we departed,” Brash boomed. “You were not in it. But you came along anyway, because your _lord_ said so.”

This was not his fault. He had given the boy every reason to stay at camp, every opportunity to abandon the mission, and every warning to _shut the fuck up_. He never listened—not once! And now he was going to die and it wasn’t Brash’s fault. But he was glad he would be the one…

“Sir, please—”

Jasper’s protest became a strangled gag as Brash grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. With one swift twist, he cracked Jasper’s neck and the boy collapsed in a heap on the steps. Bright screamed.

“I told you to shut up!” he yelled, whirling to face her. She was struggling for air, for words.

“Why did you—”

“Makes things easier!” he snarled, moving toward her. “How stupid can a fucking fool be, confessing his love to you in the middle of Rivera’s dungeon—in front of me?”

“But why—”

“The fool was in my way and couldn’t shut his mouth.” The closer he came, the further she backed away. She was a scared little kitten, trapped in a tomb with a big Scarcewall monster… “Now we can have a little talk. About this whole witch thing.”

“Witch thing?” she echoed, confused.

“First off, your lord doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He’s trying to double cross everyone. With soldiers like _those_ …” he nodded in the corpse’s direction, “tough chance.” He slowly stalked after her as she stumbled backward, eyes locked on his. “Do you know Lord Second and his dogs lied to your parents that you’re dead?”

Bright frowned. “How would you—”

“Your lord needed someone to execute to calm down the people,” he interrupted her. He wasn’t interested in answering her questions. He had a lot that he needed to tell her and her only job was to listen. “Then, when your pretty head grew back on, he decided to make you a military secret. There was a bloodthirsty mob cheering for your demise, wasn’t there? How do you think they would react when they learned they were tricked?”

Her frown deepened. She was thinking about it—realizing what he said made sense, or at least that what Lord Second had told her didn’t.

“So,” Brash continued, “Lord Second and friends meant to keep you hidden and use you if need arose—or hand you over to the king if he ever remembered us. They don’t want your kitty legs walking free, ever. You’re effectively dead.” He snorted. “They weren’t much good at keeping your existence secret anyway…”

“Why are you telling me this?” Bright asked as her back met a wall.

“I don’t know,” Brash growled, inching closer. He ripped one glove off and dropped it. “I don’t understand why I ever spoke to you, instead of just bringing you here in a sack like I was supposed to.” Her head lifted to look at him as he towered over her. “Rivera gave Lord Second a fair deal. Hand _you_ over and no one else gets hurt.” He flashed a wry smile and ripped off his other glove, dropped it. “But the old fool tried to double cross her, so we all had to get along for awhile…or pretend to.”

Brash carefully took both of her hands in his, still staring into her eyes as she watched his gesture in bewilderment. She met his gaze and understanding suddenly dawned on her. Her mouth dropped open.

“No,” she whispered in denial. “You don’t mean to hand me over…?”

His thumbs gently caressed the backs of her hands. There was an eerie silence in his mind. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but he always knew he had to…and if she was going to die, he was going to have her. There was no more turmoil, no more loud thoughts tangled up in hazy emotions, and not even his screaming guilt could reach him over the shattering intensity of his own black desire.

“I’m so sorry, kitten, sweetie.” The look of betrayal on her face was like a knife twisting in his gut. “It’s a shitty task they’re forcing me to do.”

Brash snatched her up and spun her toward the coffin dais. She screamed. He kicked Jasper’s corpse off the steps and pinned her against them. She was struggling in his arms but she was so small, so weak against his strength.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“You’ll be mine if it’s the last thing you do!” he shouted, and he didn’t even recognize the sound of his own voice. He pinned her wrists above her head and she cried out, shoulder blades twisted awkwardly with the stairs jutting into her back, but he didn’t care because it forced her to arch against him. He bent to kiss her throat, teeth grazing over the skin above her gorget. His tongue traced the line of her scar, tasting salty flesh and the tang of metal.

“Brash, don’t do—”

“Shut up!” he growled in her ear, jamming his elbows into her biceps to stop her twisting left and right. She yelped in pain. He nuzzled her thick, wet hair as she tried to turn her body with her hips but she was unable to move the wall of his body.

“Brash,” she whimpered. “Please don’t—” Her words were cut off with a scream as he snatched up her wrists with one hand and slammed them back against the steps, forcing her to arch even more. She was crying, squirming, kicking as he ran his free hand over her breastplate. His eyes closed as his palm cupped around the curves of her breasts beneath metal and leather and lace, and then he continued down her stomach to her wet pants clinging to her thighs. “Brash!” she shrieked.

“Shut _up_!” he yelled. “Or at least tell me you hate me!” She had to hate him. He deserved it.

His hand slid around her thigh to her ass where he took a handful and squeezed, pulled her hips hard against his as he bent to kiss her neck again. That’s when he noticed she was suddenly lying very still. She wasn’t struggling even a little bit, not screaming—not even wincing. He lifted his head and went rigid with the surrender in her eyes.

He didn’t understand. Why wasn’t she fighting him? Why didn’t she hate him? He had betrayed her in every way. _Maybe he was innocent_ , she had said, and here he was about to rape her—why the fuck was she not fighting him?

“…would never…” she said so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her over the sound of his heavy breathing. He held his breath. “I would never say that.”

Brash hung his head as the fire in him died and the carnal shadows crawled back to their dark holes. He didn’t deserve her…and she didn’t deserve what he was going to do to her, what he had already done. It was too late to change it, too late for him to realize just how much she meant to him. Too late, but he would have given up everything to keep her.

He sat back on his knees and pulled her up into a sitting position. He knew he shouldn’t touch her again but he found himself reaching for her. He gently wiped the tears off her cheeks and caressed the side of her head, combing his fingers through her hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers.

“You were such a perfect kitten for me,” he rasped, gazing at her fiery hair. “So young and innocent… I’ve always wanted a good girl.” He was so full of regret that he almost couldn’t breathe. “I would have taken you to Scarcewall with me. No one would be able to hurt you again.”

In a small voice, she asked, “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because that would get me killed, and then you’d be fucked.” His fingers curled into a fist around her hair, squeezing in desperation. “If only you weren’t a demonheart.” He lifted his other hand and touched his fingertips to her breastplate, right over her heart. “You are too weak for the value of that thing within your chest,” he said then looked at her face again. She was searching his eyes, gaze bouncing from his black eye to his olive one, trying to understand. “Everyone wants you dead. You can’t defend yourself. It’s only a matter of who kills you first.”

She smiled ruefully. “And you?”

“ _No_. No,” he assured her. He suddenly grasped each side of her face, holding her tight, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, fingers clawing at her hair. “But my hands are tied. It’s your life or mine.”

“Why yours?”

“If Rivera lifts a finger, I’m dead. I can’t do anything to her. She…did something…to me,” he explained, “and now she _owns_ me. She can kill me whenever she wants if I don’t perform her tasks to her liking. She wouldn’t even need to be here. I would just fall dead.” He grimaced at his own selfishness. It was supposed to be easy: his life for a walking dead girl. Why was this so hard? “Damn! After all the crap I’ve done, I can’t bear to be responsible for this. But it’s too late.” He hung his head. “We’re already here. Why does it have to end this way?”

Bright’s slim hands suddenly touched his cheeks. “I understand,” she said softly. He raised his head in shock and went still as stone as her face came toward his. She placed a gentle, chaste kiss on his lips and then said, “Take me to Rivera.”

Brash hated himself. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could only stare at her and hate himself. Why was it so easy for her to make that choice? Why was she being so good to him? He didn’t deserve her, but he wished he fucking did. He had meant it every time he said it—that he would protect her. That he would take her away and no one would ever hurt her again. He would have given anything to keep her, if keeping her didn’t mean dying.

“Why?” he finally choked out.

She smiled and he finally understood why they called her Bright. “Because I don’t want you to die.”

Brash frowned. His perfect kitten…was way too good for all of them. He stood up and held out his hand. She took it and he helped her to her feet. In sullen quiet, they walked hand-in-hand down the corridor, committed to the only course he knew.

And wherever Rivera had his heart, it was breaking.


End file.
